Amor Vitae
by afraidtobelieve
Summary: One detective injured, another lost. A single case brings to light issues that have always existed, but have never been confronted.  Set season 11 or 12, before Stabler left.
1. Chapter 1

***Disclaimer* **This show and its wonderful characters are property of Dick Wolf. Anything you recognize from the show is not mine.

Author's note: Hello, all! This little bit basically a bit of a prologue to a WIP. I have a few chapters written beyond this little bit, but I am not sure as to whether I will post them; it all depends on what you guys think. If you like it, I will post. If you think this is the single worst story in the history of fanfic, I will completely understand, and I won't force you to endure another single chapter! So, please review. Anything and everything is welcome with an open mind: good, bad, etc., but constructive criticism is most appreciated. Ok, I'm done boring you. Adios!

Xo, E

They are running. Side by side, she just slightly ahead of him. She's always done that, he realizes. Those little things, walking next to him, but sometimes just the smallest bit ahead. Maybe it's really him, slowing down, letting her take the lead, letting her direct his movements. She grounds him, reins him in, works her ass off to prove herself even after all these years as partners. She should know that she has nothing to prove to him. But he never says anything to let her know, just lets her go on pushing herself to her limit every day, every case. He's a bastard for that, he knows, but he figures that one day she'll discover her worth as a cop on her own and fight back when he pushes. He wants her to figure it out on her own, doesn't want to have to tell her how much he trusts her and admires her. He knows that he should have a long time ago, but his pride is way too strong to give it up, no matter how badly she needs him to. He's a bastard, he knows.

They're chasing Adam Dayton, a registered sex offender with a seemingly endless record and just as much stamina, it seems. They've been running for blocks and he's not showing any signs of letting up or slowing down. He's glad Olivia finds time to work out because his knees are giving out and his lungs are burning. He struggles to find a rhythm in his breathing to help his lungs out a little, but he finds little success. He tries his damndest to keep up with her and focus on Dayton, but he isn't as young or athletic as he used to be. Finally, he has to give up and stop to catch his breath. She glances back and his eye contact is all she needs to keep running without stopping to see what's wrong. They've built their partnership on the trust, give and take aspect of their relationship. If he tells her to keep going, he'll be fine, she agrees without a second thought. He's not as quick to leave her behind, but not because he doesn't think she can watch her own back. He feels a sense of duty and loyalty to her that he's never had with any other partner, and it makes it hard to leave her when she's hurt. He's very narrow-minded, as his partner and wife both remind him quite frequently; he can never see the big picture, he only sees what's right in front of him.

He stands there for about 5 minutes, catching his breath, walking it off. Then he starts running again, getting their location from an out-of-breath Olivia over the walkie-talkie. He's just reaching the seemingly empty office building when he suddenly hears the static of his radio coming to life in his jacket pocket.

"This is Officer O'Brien with Vice…we have a 10-13. Victim is Detective….Olivia Benson, possible concussion, with 2 stab wounds to the abdomen and chest, bleeding profusely from the chest. Please be advised, we have a handcuffed suspect on scene that needs to be apprehended by another officer."

He runs into the building and just inside, sees Dayton on the ground, cuffed, and an officer, O'Brien he assumes, leaning over his partner. He can feel his blood pumping through his veins, but he swears that in that moment, his heart completely stops.

*Alright, folks, is this even worthy of being posted in the first place? ...or should I shove this story in a deep dark hole where no one will ever find it? Let me know. :)


	2. Chapter 2

__***Disclaimer*** They're not mine, they never will be. Alas, they are Dick Wolf's.

Author's note: Hi, people! First of all, I just want to say, WOW. I expected maybe 1 or 2 reviews, with nowhere near the positive response that I received concerning this story. 10 reviews may not seem like much, but to me, it means so much. You guys are awesome! Anywho, this is chapter 2 and I hope it lives up to what you guys were expecting after the first little chapter I posted. I know I'm 2 days late, but I'm going to dedicate this to the beautiful, fabulous Mariska Hargitay, whose birthday was on the 24th. Ok, enough of my rambling...I hope you enjoy!

XO, E

__

_Ch. 2_

He likes to think that he's at the point where he can look at evidence of violence and not visibly cringe. Sometimes he can manage to look at a crime scene and keep the bile from rising in his throat, keep it from threatening to choke him, suffocate him. Sometimes. But the moment he sees his partner on the ground, unconscious and lying in her own blood, his composure evaporates like the demons he swears he sees in dark alleys and around corners. For a moment he's sure it's there, but then it's gone.

His partner of 12 years is lying on the cold, concrete floor of a long-forgotten warehouse along the Hudson River. She is unconscious, her chest and torn-open shirt are covered in blood. _Her blood_, he realizes with startling clarity. He rushes to her side, kneeling down and checking for a pulse just above a faint scar on her neck. He subconsciously draws up another memory of an incident that was too close for comfort. But, no, he cannot focus on that right now. She has a pulse. It's weak and thready, but it's there, and he needs to stop the blood that is still oozing out of an open knife wound in the middle of her chest.

_God, Liv. Please be okay._

He then tears his eyes away from her face and wounds, forces himself to form coherent words and communicate with the uni that now has their suspect in cuffs. _What was his name again? O'Reilly? No_, he remembers, _O'Brien. That's it_. At first, nothing intelligent escapes the huge lump in his throat. He stops, clears his throat, tries again.

"O'Brien, my name's Elliot Stabler, Special Victims. This is my partner, Benson. Can you tell me what happened?" He applies more pressure to stop the growing blood stain on her chest.

"I watched her run in here after this guy, then I heard a crash, probably him slamming her into that window frame over there," he nodded toward the bloodstained frame, "then I came in and he's on top of her. She was already stabbed, but he was reaching to rip her shirt off and she was fighting and bleeding so I grabbed him and cuffed him."

_Oh, God_. He keeps his facial expressions and tone of voice as neutral as he can manage at that moment. It doesn't amount to much, but it's the best he can do. He needs more information. He needs to speak again. He needs to make a conscious effort at understanding exactly what went down here. _Focus. Keep a clear, level head_, he tells himself. _You'll never help her if you don't focus. _ He begins to speak again, O'Brien keeping an eye out for the paramedics that will surely be here any minute now.

"Was she conscious by the time you were back to help her after cuffing him?" He reminds himself again to stay focused, stay objective as if she were just another…injured person. Injured person, not victim.

O'Brien has thankfully kept a professional demeanor the entire time. When he speaks, it's with clear, concise sentences that aren't too long so as not to waste time. He gives good, thorough information and Elliot is grateful.

"Her eyes were open for about 20 seconds, but she wasn't responding when I asked her what her name was or what unit she was in. She closed her eyes about 5 seconds before you came in." The officer paused and looked up as paramedics rushed in to attend to Olivia.

_Finally_, he thinks as one medic comes to kneel across from him at his partner's other side.

"Alright, I'm gonna need a bed, oxygen, and some gauze. I'm going to try to stop this bleeding before we get her in the ambulance," an authoritative paramedic announces as he quickly assesses the situation. "You," the man says while putting an oxygen mask on Olivia's face, looking at the uni with a look of urgency, "you called it in, right?"

The uni nods quickly, "Yes, sir."

"You her partner?"

It takes Elliot a good ten seconds to realize that the medic is still addressing the uni concerning his partner. He speaks only a few words, but the pain in his chest is excruciating. The words threaten to choke him as they start from his larynx and eventually come out as words on his tongue.

"She's my partner. Benson. I'm her next of kin."

The medic is already working on her, the gurney being rolled in by two more men. He speaks quickly and with certainty, "Ok, you ride along. I need you to inform me of any medical history and anything else that may be pertinent right now. You can fill me in on more details when we've got her in a bed at St. Catherine's. Got it?"

While he appreciates the professional, expedient way the medic works, he still cannot tear his eyes away from his partner. She is still unconscious, but the medic, Reilly as his nametag indicates, is confident that she is stable. Now is simply a matter of how much long-term damage was done. But he can worry about that a little later. Like when he's not trying to force intelligible words out of his mouth in order to convince Reilly that he himself is still conscious.

"Got it." It's the best he can do at the moment, as far as speaking goes. Her skin is pale from loss of blood. _So much blood_, is all he can think as the medics load her onto the back of the ambulance.

He allows the medics to get situated with her in the back of the bus before he hops on as well, staying as far out of the way as possible while still being able to hold her hand. He needs the contact more than even he realizes at the moment. His partner may be the one suffering from blood loss and possible shock, but he is almost positive something's wrong with him as well because he cannot breathe. He cannot feel, either, except for the dull ache in his chest that escalates to a sharp pain every time he hears a Reilly shout an order.

As his partner is being attended to in the back of the ambulance, he does his best to provide the information that Reilly and the other medics ask for.

Full name.

Date of birth.

Family history.

Any known allergies or medical problems.

All of these things were more or less easy to provide, and they were important for her safety. He felt marginally better knowing that he could help her in some way, no matter how small.

The questions continue.

Does he know of any medications she is currently taking. Date of last physical. Is there a chance that she is pregnant.

No. June of last year. No.

He answered in a short, clipped tone. As if sparing even one thought toward anyone other than his partner would be detrimental to God's ability to hear the infinite amount of prayers he is sending up at the moment.

_Please, God. It cannot end this way, not for her. She has given everything to this job, more than one person should ever have to sacrifice. Please, don't allow it to take her life, too._

It could have been 10 minutes, it could have been 10 years; at this point he is in no condition to even recognize the difference, but they are finally pulling into the emergency bay at St. Catherine's. He does his best to stay out of the way as his partner is lifted out of the ambulance and wheeled in through the double doors of a familiar ER. As soon as he deems it okay, however, he is out and rushing alongside the gurney, trying his best to keep up and hold his partner's hand for as long as possible.

Inevitably, though, his partner is wheeled into the O.R. and he is exiled to an uncomfortable waiting room. Now, he thinks solemnly, all there's left to do is wait.

...Well? Questions, comments, concerns? All can be addressed by clicking one little button! His name is "review" and he often gets very hungry. Be sure to feed him every once in awhile! Alright, it's pretty late and I have school tomorrow... Adios! :)


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello, all! I know it's been forever since I updated this thing, and actually most of this chapter was written a long time ago, so I'm just getting back in the swing of things. As always, I'd really appreciate feedback, you guys always give the best kind. Anywho, hope you all enjoy. :) _

_XO, E_

_Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, they're Dick Wolf's, yada yada..._

_Spoilers: Mild reference to "Futility," nothing drastic._

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_Ch. 3_

He can recall a time, years and years ago, when she seriously contemplated quitting. After a terrible case, he found her seated on his front stoop staring into space late one night after the case had been closed.

_There's always another child molester, always another rapist_, she'd spoken softly, tearfully. _So what the hell's the point?_

On another day, maybe when everything wasn't so dim and hazy, he'd be able to remember what he'd said to her in response. He'd remember that there is a reason for what they do, what they sacrifice. It's not a fair trade, but as they often tell others, someone has to. Someone has to live with the demons and nightmares and heartache. It's still a grim outlook on their lives, but at least there's a reason, a purpose. Something to remind them that the fight isn't entirely futile.

Of course, today isn't simply another day. Today, he is seated in an uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room outside an O.R. that smells sickeningly sterile. He is alone, except for a secretary at the end of the room behind a desk, calmly and coolly working on what he assumes is paperwork. He wonders if the woman has become as jaded as he has over time, seeing the quantities of people desperately awaiting news of the fate of a loved one, hoping and praying for the best but preparing for the worst. He still feels rage for perps and heart-breaking pain for the victims, but it's his feelings outside of work that don't register. He sees nice things outside of work, his wife and kids and the occasional ballgame. He knows he should feel something, _anything_. But his emotions are just a densely clouded haze, an ocean blackened in a harsh storm, and he is forever fighting to escape it just to reach the surface and breathe.

It's the sound of quick, determined footsteps down the corridor and into the small waiting room that finally draws him into a semi-coherent state. His captain looks very worried, but also extremely forlorn. A hopeless type of sadness that he can only equate with too many years on the job. He barely makes eye contact with his captain as he speaks.

"Cap, I, we split up and I lost contact with her. She ran ahead and he got her, and she, uh…she's in surgery now; doctor says the knife nicked an artery. He thinks she'll be fine. I, there was so much blood…" It's not the only thing he's been thinking about, but it's one of those things that seems to be on repeat. Every so often, it cycles back to the forefront of his brain and he can't stop the shiver that runs up his spine every time he sees it again. He thinks it'll be this way for awhile, probably until long after she's fully recovered.

When his captain responds, he is surprised at the calm, coolness of it. Almost as if his whole speech had been rehearsed on the car ride over here. _It probably was_, he realizes. He knows how much of a pain in the ass he can be even on a good day. His captain was probably preparing himself for the inevitable explosion he knew could happen at any moment.

"Elliot. Take a breath, calm down. No one's blaming you, and if the brass even thinks of investigating I swear I'll shoot Tucker myself. We've got Dayton in a cell and Liv's gonna be fine. Okay?"

_No_, he wants to yell. He wants to scream. _No, my partners should not be injured because of a suspect apprehension gone wrong. I was _there_, I was right there and I was supposed to have her back. What kind of a cop let's his partner get attacked and stabbed on the job?_ He asks himself. _Not one that was only twenty feet away, _he answers himself angrily. He doesn't dare say a word out loud, though. Not when his captain already has a pretty good idea of what he's thinking anyway.

Cragen speaks again, this time, taking pity on his detective. He asks a direct question instead of allowing Elliot to wallow in his own self-hatred any longer.

"So how long have they been in there?"

_Ok_, he thinks, that's easy. _I can answer that._

"'Bout an hour now, they said there was nothing to worry about. But…" He can't finish the sentence, can't even finish the thought. No. He won't go into the possibilities because she can't possibly be anything less than okay. They've been through far too much together for it to end like this. Not even a good-bye? It would ruin him.

His captain seems to understand this train of thought, though. He speaks up before Elliot has another chance to delve into the infinite possibilities, of all the things that could go wrong in that O.R. No matter how small the probability, it was still there.

"No buts, she's fine, I'm sure. Want me to go ask someone, see if I can get an update?"

One word, but even that is taking hours of energy out of him right now.

"Sure."

He's left alone once again as his captain walks away, but he's only allowed a few moments of solitude before Munch and Fin are bursting through the door. Both out of breath, both armed with bags of takeout that they undoubtedly frantically picked up in their haste to get to the hospital.

It's Fin that speaks first.

"Cap called us; we came soon as we could. How's she doin'?" The partners sit next to each other in the row of chairs opposite him in the room. He's offered a bag of whatever is in the containers, probably Chinese, which he declines.

"Doc says Dayton nicked an artery, otherwise it might be ok, I don't know, though, she was unconscious, and I was right there and" and what. He's got no excuse, no feasible explanation for why a routine chase ended so badly. He knows he's feeling sorry for himself on some deeper level, but right now, on the surface, it's just overwhelming grief.

"It's alright, man. Have you ever known that woman to give up on anything. She'll be fine and back on duty in a week, tops. She's as strong as they come."

If he were being honest, he fully expected at least one blow to the face from Fin before the end of that speech. But then again, Fin always was better at keeping a cool head when it came to his partner.

Munch pipes in, like he always does. "Yeah, man, who else would want your ugly ass? She's gotta come back." And that's all he has to say when things get too emotional.

And with that, they all sit tight to wait out the worst of it.

It occurs to him, early on as he looks around, that this is truly depressing. Everything his partner has done in her life, everything she's felt and experienced, everything that scarred her and the phenomenal sacrifice she makes every day, and this is all she has to show for it. These four men sitting here, waiting to learn of her newest fate. After everything, these four people are the only ones that love her more than she has ever loved herself. And the whole thing strikes him as unbearably sad. _I don't want to be the man who loved her more than anyone, if this is all I could give her_, he thinks. What a waste of such an incredible person.

Hours pass before they hear anything. A harried nurse rushes out to inform "Mr. Stabler, next of kin" that she should be out of surgery shortly, but that is all she can say. A whispered "no news is good news" does not aid in settling his nerves.

It is almost midnight when the doctor comes in, an unreadable expression in his tired face. They stand, all four of them, with their grim expressions and their shitty coffee, trying to delude themselves into believing that they are ready for this.

Doctor Amesbury speaks calmly and steadily, and when the words reach his ears, it is all he can do not to fall to his knees and weep.

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Alrighty, people, that's all for now. Also, I do not have a beta, so any and all grammatical/spelling/etc errors are entirely my own. Please feel free to let me know and I'll try to fix it. :)


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